An Ode to Innocence
Warning: Contains cussing and vile language from the start Papa The water in the ditch was filthy and flies buzzed around the nameless man’s still body. From his elevated spot a good 500 metres away, the man who had put him there was busily cleaning out the barrel of his rifle. The beautiful .308 had seen him through some pretty tough situations, and had never once misfired or jammed. That isn’t to say that he had never missed a shot with it. Oh no, he prepared for this eventuality by putting as much distance between him and his doomed target as possible before he pulled the trigger. “Fucking raiders…” he thought to himself as he slid the firing mechanism back into place, “Always an easy hit.” It wasn’t that they were dumb (although they certainly were); it was that they were cocky. “These unwashed bastards are all so far up their own arse, they don’t bother skulking around.” said the teenager, “Even I could have got him from there!” The man put down his .308 and looked at the boy with what seemed like a half smile, half grimace; “Now who’s being cocky?” he said. That night, as the teenager scribbled into his diary, his eyes seemed sadder than usual: " We’re hunting raiders again, but Papa won’t say why. I’m guessin’ it’s got something to with Mama – it always does. He says we’ll be seeing her again soon. But the pillar of smoke in the distance from our ranch has not yet died, so I can’t help but wonder where we’ll be meeting her..." Sustenance and the Stranger "I’m not sure what I hate the most: raw molerat, or that packaged crap from before that he finds in buildings. Either way, it’s probably the only food there’ll be for a while yet (according to Papa). We can’t light fires, see, so Papa soaks the meat in water and whiskey to kill off some of the “nasties”. I didn’t know what these things were, until I found some sort of eggs in my food; they (whatever they were) were just hatching and…" “What’cha writing in there lad?” said a gruff voice. The boy grabbed for his knife, but he was stopped short by his father, who seemed to know the stranger. “What the hell are you doing here Grant?” he demanded, “I told you to leave us alone.” “You need my help Johnny, and you know it” replied the newcomer, in a strangely calm voice. “Watch the road, Son, me and Grant here have got things to talk about” the boy’s father murmured as he lifted the tent flap, “Welcome to our humble abode. Now get the fuck inside.” "I don't think I've seen Papa this stressed before, and how does he know this man Grant? Were they friends in the old town? And why does he never talk about it? He's got a lot of explaining to do, but I'm not going to ask him, am I?" Grammarlad(talk) Category:Novels